


Persuasion

by UniverseOnHerShoulders



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: 18th Century, Bi!Clara, F/F, Fluff, Implied Sexual Content, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-20
Updated: 2015-12-24
Packaged: 2018-05-08 00:02:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5475482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UniverseOnHerShoulders/pseuds/UniverseOnHerShoulders
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Doctor finally gets his dates right, and introduces Clara to Jane Austen. Mistake number one.</p><p>Leaving them alone together. Mistake number two.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Silly fluff and fun with Bi!Clara and Jane Austen.

“Are you sure we’re definitely here this time?” Clara asked, a tad impatiently. “We’re not at Space Jane Austen World, or Steventon, Mars, 2097, or that weird place with the giant slugs?”

“Your lack of faith in me is wounding, Clara. Of _course_ we’re definitely here.” The Doctor grinned at her, half-annoyed, half-good humoured, as he put the handbrake on. Clara raised her eyebrows fractionally.

“Yeah, but you said that last time. And the time before that. And the one before that.” She circled the console, adjusting her elaborate hairstyle and staring at him critically. A lesser man would have cringed under the force of her glare, but the Doctor refused to be cowed.

“Well, this is definitely right.” He checked the monitor and smirked at her smugly. “Steventon, England, 1796. Not 1797…” he couldn’t help but jest, and Clara smacked his arm playfully.

“Alright, I get it. I was wrong. We can’t all be smart arses, think how bored you’d be. You’d have no one to impress.” She grinned at him, and he had to concede that she was right. He was nothing without an audience.

“Look, are you going to keep picking on me, or are you going to go and enjoy 1796? I don’t just bring you along to make myself look good.”

“You _so_ do,” she argued, but her tone was mirthful, and she all but danced to the doors, flinging them wide and taking in the rolling fields outside. “Wow.”

“Unspoiled, un-besmirched, unstained by humanity. Or at least, it is for now” The Doctor quipped, striding to stand behind her, and she arched an eyebrow.

“You think you’re so sanctimonious, don’t you?” she asked playfully, shoving him lightly.

“Well, we might have started some wars, but even Time Lords didn’t go in for fly tipping.”

~/~/~/~

They strolled into the centre of the village with their arms intertwined, Clara gazing around her in fascination. “Is Jane Austen really here?” she asked giddily, as excited as a child on Christmas morning. “I mean, like, the actual Jane Austen?”

“No, she was replaced in 1794 with an android replica. No one ever noticed, until it stopped working and murdered the entirety of her bridge club. That was fun to explain.” The Doctor deadpanned, and Clara gaped at him open mouthed, too exuberant to catch the sarcasm in his tone. “Of course she’s here, Clara, unless she’s experienced a sudden and fleeting urge to go to the market in the next town to purchase some… ribbons, or fripperies, or… something.”

“But like, are we really going to just stroll into the Rectory and have tea and cakes or something?” Clara pulled away from him and wandered to the side of the road to examine a shrub covered in bright blooms. “Shouldn’t we take flowers, or wine, or whatever people used to rock up with at eighteenth century dinner parties?”

“I’m an old friend of the family.” The Doctor imparted, somewhat unwillingly, and Clara spun to face him, speechless and somewhat furious.

“You _never_ told me that! What did you do?! Got rid of a Cybermat infestation? Cleared up a nasty case of Space Measles? Captured a rogue Weeping Angel in the cemetery?” Clara’s questions were so rapid, he had to hold up his hands to make her pause for breath.

“I helped her father put up some shelves.”

Clara squinted at him, unsure if he was joking. “Shelves?” she asked dubiously. “Since when did you put up shelves for strangers?”

“Since always! I’m much more than a handsome face, I came first at jiggery-pokery.”

Clara snorted. “Yeah, but how did you get here? I mean, I doubt that Reverend Austen put out an intergalactic SOS to the psychic paper: “Oh help me, I’m being besieged by uncooperative oak and need some assistance.””

“I was passing through on the trail of a rogue Vinvocci and he happened to ask for my help, actually.” The Doctor’s chest inflated slightly with pride, but Clara remained unmoved.

“So he’s just going to invite us in, your bezzie mate Reverend Austen, because you once put up some shelves together?” Her tone was becoming more unsure by the moment.

“Christian charity, or something. I’ve met Jesus, he was big on all that kind of thing. We once went for cocktails on Mercury, nice chap, but he can’t hold his drink for love or money, which was ironic, because he had too much of the former and not enough of the latter. Ended up having to bail him out of the bar tab.”

Clara’s face grew even more incredulous. “What if they were rubbish shelves? I’ve seen you and DIY, I don’t trust you. What if they collapsed and all his family heirlooms broke? I don’t fancy trying to run away from an angry vicar in this dress. Especially not if you sonicked the screws so much that they ended up ricocheting off…”

“Look, how many times? It’s not my fault that sideboard was defective, I mean, the wood was uncooperative from the off and that metal in the screws… probably from some cheap mine on Pluto, their steel was always substandard.”

“Doctor, it was from Ikea! I don’t think they stock from Pluto. That vase had sentimental value, you said we could go back and get it…” Clara’s voice trailed off as they came to a halt outside the Rectory. “Ohmygod.” Clara said very fast, clutching his arm. “She’s really in there?”

“We’ve had this conversation.”

“Shut up.” Clara had gone very red, and if it wasn’t for the Doctor’s presence beside her, she might have run away. Instead, he raised his hand and knocked confidently on the heavy-looking door. A young woman dressed in pale green answered, smiling warmly at the newcomers.

“Good morning, how may I help you?” her tone was light and warm, and Clara took an immediate liking to her.

“I’m ah. I’m Doctor John Smith, I’m an old acquaintance of your father’s. This is my…” he gestured to Clara, floundering to think of an excuse. Clara shot him a playful look and then offered a nervous smile to the girl at the door.

“I’m his daughter, Clara.” She ignored the Doctor’s black look, and the girl gestured that they enter the cool interior of the house.

“My father is in Winchester, but may I offer you some refreshment? He shall return in time for dinner, so I would suggest resting in the garden until then, this heat is rather unwelcome. I’m afraid I’m rather in the middle of something, but my sister is most charming when she’s not buried in her work, so she will be a perfectly capable hostess, I’m sure.” She ushered them through the house into a neatly tended back garden, where a circle of wicker chairs was arranged in the shade of a cluster of willow trees. The faint sound of running water could be heard, and through the boughs of the trees, Clara could see the silhouette of a figure sat upon the ground. “Jane?” She called, and the figure rose and parted the curtain of foliage, stepping through into the shade. Clara’s breath caught in her throat.

Jane was petite, but she carried a grace about her that made her seem taller, and wiser than her 21 years. Her hair fell to her shoulders in waves, and her dress was hitched to her knees, revealing tiny feet beaded with water droplets. Upon seeing the guests, she gasped and let the fabric fall to the floor, her dark eyes widening as she took in Clara and the Doctor. Clara had to admit that the few pictures she had seen did Jane very little justice: she was, in reality, very beautiful, and Clara had to concentrate on keeping her breathing level.

“Hello…” She managed, her tone somewhat strangled. “I’m Clara Os- Smith, and this is my father, John.” She was too nervous to notice the Doctor’s glare, and instead smiled hesitantly at Jane, who returned it more confidently.

“It is a pleasure to meet you both. I apologise, I was rather warm so I was making use of the brook, it is deliciously cooling in this heat. My sister will fetch us some lemonade, do get comfortable.” She arranged herself in a nearby chair, laying a leather-bound notebook carefully on the table in front of her. Clara sat beside her, while the Doctor remained standing.

“So, I’ve got some things to do, Clara. You’ll cope here, right? I don’t need to hold your hand.” His eyes sparkled with mischief, and despite her excitement, Clara felt nervous, afraid to be alone with the woman she had always so admired, and now, though she was loathe to admit it, was rather attracted to.

“I… well, I’m not sure about…” she scowled at him, before rearranging her features into a chagrined smile. “Actually, Father, I do believe I’ll be quite alright.” She blinked coquettishly at him, and he looked daggers back at her, then nodded.

“Good, well, enjoy your knitting, flower arranging or… whatever it is ladies do.” He turned to leave, muttering so that only Clara could hear: “Not that you are one.”

Jane looked to Clara, her eyes full of laughter. “Your father is an amusing man. I feel this may be punishment for something?”

Clara laughed, the tension dissipating. “It’s… complicated. I’m actually a really big fan of yours. In a non creepy way. In an entirely, like, not weird way. I’ve read _all_ of your works, and I’m a teacher, and I know a lot of people who love your work too.”

Jane began to look rather puzzled. “But how can you have read my works? I write only for my family, and my own amusement… And teaching? Women don’t teach…”

Clara realised her error, and cursed herself. “It’s… difficult, like I said. We travel around a lot, from time to time.”

Jane’s sister reappeared at that moment, bearing a tray of iced lemonade, and Clara seized a glass and sipped gratefully. Jane drank long and deep, then surveyed Clara from over the crystal rim. “You haven’t explained how you have come to read my work.” She mused, and Clara sighed. She would have to do it. She would have to just tell her the truth.

“I’m… not from here.” She began, and Jane laughed.

“I can tell from your voice. So melodic and lilting, such strange words! Is that how they talk in the north?” She teased, and Clara flushed despite herself.

“I mean, I’m not from this time. Or here, actually. I’m from Blackpool, but I’m also from the future. We both are. Me and the Doctor. That’s my… dad. Only he’s not actually my dad, that’s why he looked so annoyed, he’s actually just a sort of friend, and we travel in time, and I’m a teacher in the future and _I am such a big fan_.”

Jane surveyed Clara quizzically for a moment, watching the colour rise in her cheeks, picking which aspect to question her upon. She wasn’t entirely sure whether Clara was jesting with her, and so she sought to riposte her remarks with a witticism of her own. “You don’t look like you’re made of silk. Although you are equally smooth of complexion, and currently rather highly coloured, and I hope that in the future, one is still composite of bones.”

If at all possible, Clara went even redder, and Jane laughed. “Jane… I know it sounds crazy. But it’s true. You become very successful, millions of people read your books.”

“Well, now I know you to be speaking falsehoods. My silly little stories?! You flatter me.” It was Jane who flushed now, turning her face towards the ground and pushing her hair behind her ear. “And besides, you haven’t answered me. Are we still made of bones, in the future? Or are we strange metal beings?”

Clara laughed. “Nope, still bones. But fashions have changed, I’m not sure how you breathe in this all day. Or walk. Or run.”

“Changed how? I find my summer gowns most liberating, compared to winter – winter is rather like being a prisoner in my own garments.” Jane was about to make another remark when she noticed Clara’s discomfort. “Are you unaccustomed to the heat? Is it not warm in our future?”

“It is, just… I’m usually wearing a bit less.” Clara fanned her face with her hands. “I think my dress might be too tight, I couldn’t lace it myself, and the Doctor isn’t exactly Gok Wan.” Jane looked away a little, biting her lip and trying hard not to imagine the woman before her garbed in less than that clinging muslin gown, which accentuated the soft curve of her bosom and revealed to Jane the gentle slope of Clara’s collarbones, drawing her eye to… no. She would not be tempted. She could not. It would not be proper.

“Well, we could always dip our toes into the brook. It’s most refreshing.” Jane suggested once she had regained some composure, and Clara nodded, attempting to rise to her feet and failing, constrained as she was by her dress. “Permit me to assist?” Jane rose and offered her hand to Clara, who took it gratefully and stood, swaying slightly in the haze, keeping hold of Jane’s hand, aware suddenly of how close she was to her. Jane pulled away abruptly, embarrassed, parting the curtain of the willows and leading Clara through.

Clara sank to the bank gratefully and slipped off her pumps, rolling her dress to her knees and dipping her feet into the icy water with a sigh of bliss. “That is heaven.” She murmured, then realised what she’d said. “I mean, not in an irreverent way. But that… that is gorgeous.” Jane laughed and joined her, their legs almost touching, and both women suddenly became acutely aware of a lack of oxygen at that particular moment as tension rippled between them, and then Clara broke away to stand in the current, bending at the waist and splashing Jane with water.

“Clara!” Jane exclaimed, before kicking a flurry of droplets over Clara, biting her lip as one clung to her décolletage, trying not to allow her eyes to be drawn and casting them down as Clara splashed her once more, the water catching Jane in the face and leaving her spluttering in mirth and indignation. Jane went to retaliate and Clara danced away from her, knee deep in the stream now, until with a shriek, she disappeared below the surface. Jane cried out, lunging forwards and wrapping her arms around the older girl’s waist, pulling her to her feet and helping her to the bank clumsily, noticing – despite herself – how Clara’s gown clung to her, even as Clara noted the same about her companion. “Are you quite alright?” Jane asked, her arms encircling Clara protectively as she coughed up water. “Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine, I’ve worse, I just _hate this stupid dress_ ,” Clara managed, trying to reach for the ties at the back of the gown.

“Allow me,” Jane murmured, her hands shaking as she unlaced the dress fractionally and Clara sighed quietly, leaning back against Jane, enjoying the feel of her arms around her and her breath against her neck. Jane forced herself to pull away infinitesimally, and it was then she noticed the blood trickling from Clara’s leg, staining the hem of her dress a bright crimson.

Following her gaze, Clara seemed unperturbed by the injury, dabbing at it curiously. “Oops. Do you have a first aid- never mind, do you have a handkerchief? I’m ruining a perfectly nice dress.”

Jane nodded and took it out, gently pressing it to the long scratch on Clara’s calf. “It’s alright, it’s not too bad. And at least now you needn’t wear it again.” she teased, and Clara smiled, leaning slightly towards Jane.

The curtain of willows parted abruptly, and both women jumped. The Doctor stood framed by greenery, and his eyes widened as he took in the sight before him. “Clara?! I left you alone for five minutes and now you’re bleeding? I’m not your babysitter, but really? I have a duty of care, you know.”

She sighed. “I’m fine, honestly. It’s just a scratch.”

“Well, have you had all your jabs? Urm, urm, what’s the nasty one? Tent… ten… tet-something? That one? The not-dying one?” The Doctor wondered aloud, and Jane raised her eyebrows.

“Doctor Smith, you do seem rather unsure of your… _daughter’s_ life, and your medical knowledge seems rather lacking…” she quipped, and he gave her a scornful look.

“Human medicines aren’t my area. Clara, however, is. Do you feel faint?” he pressed, and Clara sighed again.

“No.”

“Do you feel sick?”

“No.”

“Well, do I need to chop it off?” he probed in mock-seriousness, and despite herself, Clara laughed.

“Nope, I think I’ll live, it’s alright.” She assured him, and he nodded, his face impassive, only his eyes betraying his obvious concern for her.

“Well, you’ll have to stay here.” He informed her, and she frowned.

“What, on the lawn? That doesn’t seem very hygienic, _Doctor_ , and it’s not like it’s kind of hot…”

“No, here. In Hampshire. I can’t have you bleeding all over the TARDIS and limping everywhere, you’ll only be a liability.” Clara searched for the sparkle in his eyes that betrayed his usual humour before realising that this time, he wasn’t joking. “I’m sure Jane will take good care of you, I’ll pop back in a week or so. Try not to die or anything.”

“Doctor?!” Clara tried to stand, but Jane gently pushed her back to her seat upon the bank.

“Like he said. I’ll take care of you, Clara.” Jane affirmed, and the Doctor nodded at her in thanks.

“You’ll have fun! It’ll be like a… you know, what do they call those things, with pyjamas and pillows and giggling? Sleepovers. It’ll be like a big Regency sleepover.”

And with that, he was gone. Clara looked down at her lap, flushing slightly, as Jane scrutinised her curiously.

“What’s a sleepover?” she asked, and Clara laughed. “And why are you so reluctant, _fan_?”

“I’m not.” She protested, flushing a dark pink. “It’s just a big honour… here… you…” She trailed off, suddenly glad that the Doctor was not around to mock her speechlessness, for she knew he would hold it over her for future use.

“You’re keen to lead me into sin, aren’t you?” Jane teased, and Clara’s head snapped up, wondering how Jane could tell, wondering how on earth she had read Clara’s thoughts, until Jane continued: “Pride. You’ll make my head swell with all your praise.”

Clara felt disappointment flood her features and she fought to keep them neutral. _Of course not_. She told herself. _Of course she wouldn’t be interested in that way. Don’t be stupid_.

Jane smiled shyly at Clara, her hands still warm against Clara’s wounded leg.

 _Oh Doctor_ , she chided mentally. _What a week this is going to be…_


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part 2 of probably 3... in which Jane Austen gets flirty, selfies occur, and Twelve learns to text.

Jane sat back on her haunches, surveying Clara with a small smile. “We should take you inside and put some iodine on your wound, just to be sure. I feel like your Doctor would be displeased if he returned to find you taken with a fever.”

“He’s not _my_ Doctor,” Clara protested half-heartedly. “I mean; we aren’t a couple. He’s older than me, and those eyebrows! They are not romantic eyebrows, they’re attack eyebrows. Plus, the whole Angry-Scottish thing isn’t really an aphrodisiac.”

“Well, Clara, older men can be rather appealing… so my family say. Wealth, prospects, stability…” Jane’s face clouded over, and she sighed sadly in a way that suggested it was a conversation she had had many times. Clara couldn’t help but scoff a little, in a way she hoped conveyed to Jane her perceptions of traditional gender roles, before trying to keep her tone light.

“Well, the Doctor is old enough to be my dad,” she began, silently adding: _more like great-great-great-something-granddad_. “And he doesn’t care about wealth, unless it’s a wealth of knowledge or sentimental value or something useful, and things like titles… he has one, he chose it, but he thinks they’re all posturing and pompous. And as for stability…” she laughed. “We don’t do stability. Not that we need to, because, really, he is not my type.”

“But surely, a beautiful young lady like yourself must have a romantic figure on the horizon? Someone dashing and bold to sweep you off your feet? I cannot believe you are unattached.” Jane smiled at Clara, who felt her heart constrict a little in the way it always did when she thought about Danny.

“There was this one guy… And we were together…” she paused, trying to control the tremor in her voice, determined not to cry in front of Jane. “But he died…” her voice cracked a little, despite her efforts, and Jane looked pained, placing her hand on Clara’s and squeezing gently.

“My apologies, I did not mean to cause you distress.” Jane looked away from Clara for a moment, allowing her some privacy in her sorrow, before standing and extending her hand. “Let us go inside, I am being a most ungracious hostess.”

Clara forced herself to smile and took Jane’s hand, following her into the cool interior of the house. As Jane led her upstairs, she suddenly became acutely aware of their dresses dripping onto the pristine floors, the chill that penetrated through the thin fabric, and the pain in her leg, thus she was relieved to reach Jane’s bedchamber, which was illuminated by the glow of the afternoon sun. Despite the warmth of the small room, she began to shiver, and Jane gasped apologetically.

“Oh! We must get you out of those clothes, or you’re going to drip all over the bed! Come now, let me help you.”

“B-bed?” Clara managed, trying to tell herself that the stammer in her voice was from the cold, trying to ignore the thought of Jane helping her to undress, her fingers brushing over her bare skin and guiding her into bed. She couldn’t allow herself to think like that, she told herself, biting her lip and trying to gain a modicum of self-control. _Clara Oswald, get yourself together._

“Yes, bed! You need to rest, Clara, you’ve been hurt. Now. Clothes, come along. No need to be shy, I’ve seen far worse.” Jane was trying to be brusque, but the thought of Clara disrobing in front of her was distracting, to say the least. It wasn’t as though Jane had never seen a woman in a state of undress– Cassandra and herself often shared a dressing room – but she had never seen anyone as beautiful as Clara before, and certainly not anyone as beautiful as Clara _and laid bare_.

“Far worse?” Clara teased, cursing herself as the words left her lips, but unable to stop talking. “So does that make me bad, or the best?”

Jane laughed a little uncomfortably, stepping behind Clara to disguise the flush that had risen in her cheeks. “I mean only that I have seen women in childbed, and therefore your little wound is nothing in comparison.” Her hands fumbled with the laces on Clara’s dress and she realised she was holding her breath so as to try and keep her composure. She exhaled slowly and measuredly, the warm air raising goose pimples across Clara’s neck, and Jane reached up gently and slipped the dress from Clara’s shoulders, letting it puddle to the floor at her feet.

“Thanks,” Clara murmured, stepping out of it and sighing. “We don’t have all these layers in the future, and it’s _so_ much easier to do anything.”

Jane laughed a little, unsure of how to proceed. Clara was now clothed only in her muslin petticoat and stays, and Jane didn’t want to encroach upon her intimacy, but she could see how exhausted Clara looked. “Should I…?” she asked hesitantly, and Clara paused for a moment.

“I think I’ve got this,” she decided. “You should get out of your wet things too, you’ll catch a chill.” _I can’t offer to help,_ she told herself. _Jane unlacing her dress had been torture enough, there was no reason to prolong the agony._

Jane nodded, turning away to hide her disappointment, and began to undo her gown as Clara removed her stays, casting them aside. She was about to remove her petticoat when she realised a fundamental problem: she had no dry clothes. “Ah, Jane?” she asked. “I don’t… I didn’t bring… I don’t have anything dry.”

“There’s a clean nightgown under my pillow. If you rest in that until dinner, I’ll stay with you here and write.”

“You do take this nursing thing seriously, don’t you? I promise I won’t die if you leave me alone.” Clara assured Jane with a smile, and Jane laughed.

“I take it very seriously when my patient has a powerful Scottish friend,” she retorted. “And when my patient is so…” she cut herself off, embarrassed.

“So… what?” Clara asked, turning to look at Jane, clad similarly in a clinging wet petticoat. Their eyes met, and Jane had neither the will nor the desire to look away.

“So pretty.”

~/~/~/~

As Clara lay in bed that night, she wondered how on earth this trip had become so surreal. Dinner with Jane and her family had been a warm, happy affair, but Jane had remained distant from her, embarrassed by their earlier conversation. Cassandra had shown Clara up to bed, insisting that she take Jane’s room and so now Clara lay here, alone, contemplating what had happened. It was true, she conceded: Jane was beautiful, and intelligent, and flirty. But she knew from past experience that just because they had flirted, it didn’t mean that Jane necessarily liked her in that way. She wished she had someone here to talk to. It wasn’t even like she could just ask the Doctor. She definitely couldn’t ask him for romantic advice. Sure, he’d been married, but asking him about her own situation seemed overly intimate, and she cringed inwardly at the thought.

She sighed softly.

 _Clara Oswald_ , she told herself sternly. _Less worrying, more enjoying yourself. It’s not every day you get to stay with the Austens. Or get to read first drafts of Pride & Prejudice._

She fell asleep smiling, her problems cast from her mind.

~/~/~/~

Clara awoke the next morning when Jane brought her a tray of breakfast, adorned with a small posy of violets in a thumb-sized vase. “Good morning, Clara,” Jane smiled warmly. “I apologise for my behaviour last night. I do hope you are feeling more rested today, I thought we may take a stroll around the village, should your leg not pain you too greatly.”

“Oh, urm, it’s ok…” Clara mumbled, sitting up and smiling sleepily. “You didn’t have to bring me breakfast in bed!"

Jane’s smile grew inexplicably. “I shall leave you to eat and dress in private. There are many garments in my armoire for you to choose from.”

With that, she was gone, and Clara frowned a little, dismissing her sense of unease and starting to eat, enjoying the luxury of having breakfast prepared for her. When she was done, she placed the tray carefully at the foot of the bed and stood, stretching mightily, before padding across the room to the basin of water that Cassandra had provided her with the night before. Pushing her hair back from her face, Clara looked in the mirror blearily and shrieked.

Her face was adorned with swirls of black and white, intricate in their detail, from her hairline to her chin, giving her whole visage an otherworldly appearance. No wonder Jane had smiled so widely this morning – she must have been the perpetrator. Clara frowned a little, then laughed. It had been a masterful move, and she had to admire Jane’s daring in bringing her breakfast to her, returning to the scene of the crime. She wondered when it had been done, and the thought of Jane, crouched low over her sleeping form with charcoal and chalk, was enough to make her stomach flutter. It seemed almost a shame to wash it away, but she bent her head over the basin and scrubbed until her face was clean, before dressing in a gown of palest blue and descending the stairs with her tray. She would not mention the prank to Jane, she decided, choosing instead to remain passive and innocent and then strike at the opportune moment.

“Good morning,” she said breezily, and Jane smiled at her. “So, are we walking, or are we staying here?”

“We could walk, I suppose…” Jane mused, taking the tray from Clara and setting it upon the side. “Although I must say, that is tremendously bad manners.”

“What? I was only trying to help, you brought it to me…” Clara protested, but Jane laughed.

“I was referring, Miss… Smith, to your choice of attire. It is far more becoming upon you than it is upon myself. How tremendously insolent.” She smiled the smile that Clara had already christened _the wicked smile_ and offered her arm to Clara, whose cheeks had flared pink once again. Linking her arm through Jane’s, they left the Rectory together, wandering down the lanes of the village, as Jane kept up a constant commentary of their surroundings, and a whispered one of the people they met. Clara could hardly help but be charmed by her passion and enthusiasm, as Jane greeted each villager they encountered with a smile and a kind word, the perfect young lady.

Eventually, the neat cottages of the village gave way to rolling fields, and beyond those, the distant green of the woods. Neither woman was in any particular hurry, so engrossed were they in each other’s company, thus it came as even more of a surprise when the sky split open with a mighty rumble and drops of rain, as sharp as needles, began stinging at their skin and clothes. With a squeal, Jane seized Clara’s hand and headed for the wooded copse, until finally she tumbled over a fallen log and fell, giggling, against a tree, with Clara pinned underneath her. They panted for breath, damp, exuberant and laughing, their lips inches apart, their hair plastered against their scalps, until Clara finally managed: “We’re making a habit of this.”

“Of what?” Jane asked, concentrating very hard on not looking at the fullness of Clara’s lips, on not wondering what it would feel like to kiss them, on not just doing so then and there.

“Getting wet,” Clara grinned, and Jane laughed too, the tension easing a little. “Although I do think this rather saves us having to bath.”

As she spoke, the sky cleared again, and Jane pulled away from Clara, patting down her dress. “We ought to dry out on the way home. No need to change.” She assured Clara, and the two of them began to amble back towards the village. “Is the weather still so changeable in the future?” she wondered, and Clara smiled.

“We have special… things, that tell us what the weather is going to do every hour. But sometimes they’re wrong. Sometimes they say it’s going to be hot, and then it’s cold. Once they said it would be a long, hot summer, and it rained every day for all of July. Then people get in trouble.”

“That would be rather useful,” Jane mused. “Although there is some joy in the mystery of the elements.”

“Unless you’ve done your hair,” Clara reminded her. “Or you want to go for a picnic. Or to the beach…”

Jane laughed. “We cannot all be as concerned as you, Miss Clara. Some of us prefer to live more dangerously.”

And with that she danced away from her, grinning, running ahead to the village, leaving Clara alone and more determined than ever to prank Jane in return.

~/~/~/~

The next morning, Jane awoke to find Clara sat beside her on the edge of her bed, smiling kindly. “Good morning!” Clara said brightly. “Cassandra went shopping, so I’m attempting breakfast. Have that for now. And enjoy it, because it took bloody hours to boil.” She placed the cup and saucer on Jane’s bedside table, then stood and swept from the room in a whirl of skirts, smiling secretly to herself.

Jane reached for the cup sleepily and had taken a long, deep drink before she realised that she had been tricked. Spitting the salted tea back into the cup, she jumped to her feet, tearing downstairs in her nightgown and bursting into the kitchen.

“That was most unkind!” she spluttered. “Tea is sacred in this household, Clara! I- stop laughing!” For Clara was bent double with mirth, and Jane’s anger dissipated almost immediately as Clara came over to her and put an arm around her shoulders fondly.

“I would say I’m sorry…” she began contritely. “But I’m not.” She grinned and pulled away from Jane. “Nice nightie, would you like breakfast served, madam?”

Jane coloured immediately. “Forgive me, whatever must you think of me? Appearing this way before guests…”

“Well, I was thinking that you’re rubbish at practical jokes…” Clara deadpanned. “And then I was like, nice nightie… Honestly, it’s fine. Remember you’ve seen me in my petticoat. Sit down and eat.”

Jane pulled the folds of her nightgown around her more closely, taking a seat at the table, and Clara was profoundly glad for the modesty of the era, and the sheer volume of fabric that engulfed Jane. Placing two plates on the table, Clara suddenly realised that Jane was staring with a startled gaze. “Why, what is this?” she asked curiously, her fork hovering over the plate.

“Well… I… Oh. I think I just invented the English breakfast…” Clara realised aloud, and Jane began to eat with a somewhat dubious expression on her face.

“It’s nice,” Jane mumbled some moments later through a mouthful of food, and Clara laughed.

“See? When I’m not trying to trick you with loads of salt, I’m a model guest.”

~/~/~/~

The TARDIS monitor lit up whilst the Doctor was in the middle of an equation. Grinning with triumph and underlining the solution, he descended the stairs to the console and checked the screen.

_New message: Clara._

“Texting? Are we texting now?” he grumbled to himself, opening the message.

 _I hope you’re not having too much fun without me. Jane and I are engaged in a war of wits. I think we both lost the last round_.

There was a photo attached of the pair of them covered from head to toe in flour, grinning, their arms around each other.

“I knew this was a bad idea…” he muttered. “Guess I should go and pick her up before she destroys the place.”

He typed out a reply.

_Be back in a day. Don’t cause a riot. Again._

~/~/~/~

“Clara?” Jane’s voice woke her with a start, and she sat up, rubbing her eyes.

“Mm? Yeah? Wh…?” Clara yawned, and it was then she noticed that Jane had been crying.

“He’s here,” Jane mumbled, wiping her eyes on the back of her hand. “The Doctor.”

“Mm, not funny,” Clara said sleepily. “Rubbish prank.”

“Clara… this isn’t… he’s downstairs, complaining about how impolite our cat is.”

“Oh,” she had expected her heart to soar, but instead her stomach clenched, and she reached for Jane reflexively. “That sounds like him… What did the cat say?”

“How can you jest at a time like this? You’ll go back to your future and your iPhone and your selfies and forget about me, I cannot bear that, Clara. Truth be told, I’ve come to care for you, with your strange ways and your jokes. I do not wish to lose you. I cannot bear it.” Jane looked down at their clasped hands, a tear trickling down her cheek.

“I’ll come back, Jane. I promise. I’ll…”

The door burst open and the unmistakeable opening riffs of “Walk This Way” greeted Clara as the Doctor strode in, guitar in hand. Jane sprung away from Clara as though she had been burned.

“Clara! Not all floury today then? Jump in the TARDIS, there’s a nebulae implosion two galaxies over that we could catch.”

“But…”

“Or we could go to Blackpool, Jupiter, they have these rocket-propelled donkeys…” he continued.

“Doctor! Give me five minutes, OK? _Five_.” Clara gave him a look, then flapped her hands at him, and finally he took the hint and backed from the room.

“Jane,” Clara said softly. “Jane, I’ll be back. You know I will. I give you my word.”

“Do you swear it?” Jane whispered.

“I swear it,” Clara assured her, getting to her feet. “Give me a moment to get dressed, OK? Just turn your head or cover your eyes or something.” Jane smiled despite herself and put a hand over her eyes, and Clara stood, pulling on her petticoat and stays, then slipping her dress on over the top. “No more awful dresses…” she joked, and Jane laughed a little.

“Would you like some assistance?” Jane asked, peeking from behind her fingers, and Clara feigned indignation.

“Miss Austen! How dishonest of you!” Clara smiled, the side of her mouth tilting upwards adorably. “Please.”

Jane stood and went to Clara, adjusting the laces tenderly before resting her hands on Clara’s waist and tucking her chin upon her shoulder. “There…” she murmured softly, her breath tickling Clara’s ear. “I’ll miss you.”

“I know,” Clara took Jane’s hands in hers, and not caring about the consequences, she turned around and kissed her, gentle at first, and then as Jane responded to Clara’s touch, more intensely. Clara tried to put everything she felt into the kiss, tried to convey how much she cared for Jane, and when Jane finally pulled away, Clara felt an acute sense of loss, as though a part of her had been torn away. _If only I had done that on the first day,_ she cursed. _Things could have been so different by now; this wouldn’t have been such a bittersweet goodbye…_

“I’ve been wanting to do that for a really long time,” Clara confessed. “So, ah…”

“Clara? Shh.” Jane kissed her again, and this kiss was longer but infinitely sadder, tinged with both of their tears. After what felt like both eternity and too short a time entirely, Jane pulled away with the utmost regret, her eyes full of tears. “Go.”

“Jane…” Clara began, her eyes dewy.

“Go, Clara. Just come back to me.” Jane looked away, and Clara walked towards the door slowly, her heart aching.

Jane watched as the TARDIS dematerialised from the lawn, her eyes full of tears.

“I’ll wait for you.” She promised aloud. “Always.”


	3. Chapter 3

"Can we visit Jane again?" Clara asked one morning, trying to keep her tone casual and her face as devoid of emotion as possible. The Doctor surveyed her with a long look of confusion. She could almost see the cogs turning in his brain as he tried to figure out her motives.

"Why d'you want to go back?!" He asked her incredulously. "It's boring going to the same place twice, and it creates all sorts of problems. Elizabeth I, for instance."

"I ah... I left something there," Clara said airily. She'd been working on the lie for a week now, trying desperately to think of a reason to return to the rectory in Steventon. "Need it back." 

"It wasn't your dignity again, was it?" The Doctor asked snidely. "Do you even have any of that left after last week?" 

Despite herself, Clara flushed and shoved him playfully. She’d ended up having one too many drinks in a bar three galaxies over and being carted off to the police station, and if it hadn’t been for some quick thinking from the Doctor, she would probably still be there. It was a sore subject, so naturally the Doctor brought it up at every opportunity.

"No, I left some clothes. Nice ones."

"Well you've got loads of those. They all look the same, really, don't they? They just cover you up." The Doctor looked bemused now, and Clara sighed. She really hadn't wanted to do this.

Turning her eyes to the Doctor, she gave him her best Look. The one that had melted countless hearts, from her mother to her primary school teacher, from parking attendants to bar staff.  

"Don't do that. How are you doing that? Stop it. Clara. That isn't... Fine! We can go and see Jane, just stop looking at me like that." The Doctor capitulated, but Clara kept doing the look. "What? What is it? Please, it's like being assailed by your eyeballs. Stop it!"

"Can't you just... Drop me off? For a week or so?" Clara's tone was soft and pleading, and if at all possible, her eyes inflated even more. The Doctor physically stumbled backwards in an attempt to avoid them.

"Will it... Will it stop you doing that face?"

"Oh, most definitely." She assured him. "Please. _Please._ "

"FINE!" he all but shouted. "Might actually get some work done, at least. Try not to cause any anachronisms. No punk rock Jane Austen. That's all I ask."

"No anachronisms." Clara promised. _Except the one where we end up kissing. That one._

~/~/~/~

 

Clara emerged from the TARDIS into ankle deep snow. Looking around, she took in the achingly familiar sight of the Rectory, buried in a blanket of glittering white and frosted with a neat row of icicles, picture-perfect.

"I'll be back in a week. Try not to have too much fun. Or freeze to death. That's a thing you humans do, apparently." The Doctor looked at her oddly for a moment.

"What's that look for?" Clara asked, and he embraced her awkwardly, patting her back gently. She smiled, wrapping her arms round him in return. "I'll be fine. Don't worry about me so much."

"I'm not worried about you!" He chided. "I'm worried about poor Jane under your influence! Now anyway. Go and have fun. Go on." He shooed her a little and she laughed, dancing out into the snow and knocking on the front door of the house as she watched the TARDIS dematerialise out of the corner of her eye. _My influence,_ she mused _. I don't think my influence was the problem._

One of Jane's brothers answered the door. "Miss Smith!" he exclaimed delightedly. "What an unexpected pleasure! Come inside, it is so dreadfully cold, and we have a glorious fire."

Clara followed him into the warmth of the house, taking in the decorations and realising abruptly that it was almost Christmas, which meant it must have been months since she had last seen Jane. She made a mental note to tell the Doctor about his lousy timekeeping.

"If you have come to see my sister, I am afraid she is staying in Winchester at present, so she may write more prolifically. I can offer you the address of the inn that she is lodging at, should you wish to visit her?" he said kindly to Clara, and she felt her heart skip a little at the thought of herself and Jane, alone and away from the constant intrusion of her family.

"That would be nice, thank you," she managed, and he smiled and began to write out the address and directions in neat, flowing script that hardly resembled his sister’s untidy scrawl.

"She speaks most fondly of you," he told her. "Where is your father, pray tell? We have such amusing memories of him and his strange ways."

"He's... Travelling. I've been a bit ill, so he said I should stay behind." Clara lied confidently, mentally chastising herself for the ease with which she formulated the words. _Lying is a vital survival skill,_ she told herself. _And a terrible habit._  

"Oh! Winchester will be most splendid for you, there are plenty of physicians, and warm inns, and you may pray at the cathedral for your good health." he handed her the piece of parchment. "Are you quite alright to reach the railway station alone?" his face was a mask of tender concern, and Clara nodded.

"Thank you, I think so," she smiled charmingly at him. "I shall give Jane your regards. It was lovely to see you again."

Ten minutes later, Clara was stood on the icy railway platform outside Steventon, unable to tell whether she was shaking with nerves or the cold. _Not long now,_ she told herself _. Not long, Jane._

~/~/~/~

 

Clara checked the piece of paper with the address on, then looked up at the inn before her. It was warm and inviting, with golden light spilling out of the leaded windows and casting a glow over the grey slush in the street outside. Pushing open the door, the warmth engulfed Clara, bringing with it smells of spiced cider, mead and tobacco smoke, but she had little interest in looking around her, so intent was she in her quest. Making her way to the bar, she smiled her most endearing smile at the innkeeper. “Good evening,” she began. “I’m looking for Miss Austen?" 

“Room 12. Up them stairs, on the left.” He barely even glanced at Clara, for which she was profoundly grateful, and she followed his directions, finally coming to a halt outside a nondescript looking oak door with a faded “12” embossed on it in gilded numerals. Raising a shaking fist, she knocked loudly twice, then tried to control her breathing as she waited for an answer.

Jane opened the door almost at once, her expression irritated, already shrilly complaining: “what have I told you about knocking?! I am busy, I am w….” Her mouth fell open as she took in Clara in disbelief, afraid she may vanish unexpectedly or prove to be a trick of the light. “Am I dreaming?”

“Not unless I am too.” Clara joked, and Jane squealed then, pulling her inside the room and wrapping her arms around her tightly.

“It has been so long! I was afraid you had forgotten me! Oh, Clara…” Jane’s eyes were full of tears, and Clara cupped her cheek, smiling softly.

“I couldn’t forget you,” she murmured, leaning in and kissing Jane gently on the brow. “I’m here for a week, and I’m yours.”

“Do you promise?” Jane asked suspiciously. “No Scotsman?”

“He’s a long, long way away,” Clara assured her. “Having fun without me, or something. Probably moping, more like.”

“Give me your portable telephone.” Jane demanded, and Clara handed it over with trepidation, watching Jane place it in a drawer securely away from them both, locking it with a tiny key. “There. Now you are truly mine, and I yours.” Her smile lit up her face, dimples blossoming in her cheeks, and Clara couldn’t help herself from leaning in and kissing each one before meeting Jane’s lips with her own.

“I believe we were rudely interrupted last time…” she whispered, watching the flush rise in Jane’s cheeks and kissing from her throat to her jaw. “This time, it’s just us…”

Jane closed her eyes, feeling Clara’s hands reach for the laces on her dress and trembling slightly as she began to undo them slowly and methodically, her mouth pressing feather-light kisses to Jane’s lips and cheeks as she did so. Within moments, her dress was cast aside, and she supposed, dimly, that she should help Clara remove hers, that it would be _polite,_ before realising with surprise that Clara was already down to her petticoat.

“When…” she managed to ask, before Clara silenced her with another kiss, smiling into it and resting one hand on Jane’s waist, the other reaching up and beginning to unlace her own stays. Jane closed her eyes again, trying to retain some small scrap of self control, before realising how fruitless it was when she would soon be confronted by Clara, unclothed, her bare skin laid out like a map for Jane to explore leisurely with her lips and hands. “Clara…” her words caught in her throat, and Clara hesitated, her eyebrows knitting into a worried expression.

“Is this alright?” she asked, concern in her voice, and Jane nodded, suddenly decisive and bold.

“You shouldn’t be doing that,” she teased, and Clara looked momentarily confused, until Jane’s hands reached up and removed her stays instead.

“What should I be doing?” Clara asked, her eyes full of light and desire, and Jane bit her lip, pretending to think.

“Not talking,” she decided after a moment, kissing Clara again and gently walking her backwards to the bed.

For once in her life, Clara Oswald complied.

 

~/~/~/~

 

The next morning, Clara swung her legs out of bed and shivered in the chill December air. She cast a lingering glance at Jane before standing and crossing the room to the window and pulling back the curtains, the sunlight casting frosty silver patterns across Jane's face. 

"Morning," Jane murmured softly. "You know, I don't like sharing you."

"You aren't sharing me!" Clara protested. "I'm all yours. You took my phone. Remember? Something about not being interrupted?"

Jane's face curled into a half-smirk. "But I'm sharing you with the cold. And the cold gets to embrace your bare skin and turn it to gooseflesh, and I thought that was my sole privilege."

Clara felt herself going red, and Jane smiled all the more. “That too should be my duty. Come here, let me kiss you.” She beckoned to Clara, who returned to bed and leaned down to kiss Jane, her hair framing both their faces.

“We can’t stay in bed all day,” Clara said firmly. “We should go out into the snow, it never snows where I’m from.”

“But that requires you wearing many more layers than I strictly approve of,” Jane sighed. “And my most composed behaviour.”

Clara smirked. “Well, we can always come back here and strip off after. I’m sure we’ll both be cold… and wet...” She stood, beginning to pull on her petticoat as Jane watched her. “Come and get dressed, then.”

“But the view is so beautiful,” Jane protested. “I am rather loathe to move when I could just gaze at you all day…”

Clara laughed. “Come on, I want SNOW,” she begged, childlike, and Jane finally rose from bed and began to dress, stealing lingering glances at Clara as she sat at the dresser and pinned her hair up. When they were both garbed in the winter clothes, Clara linked her arm through Jane’s and they left the warmth of the inn, walking briskly towards the cathedral, which Jane assured Clara would be magnificent.

“It’s gorgeous here,” Clara gazed around in wonder at the snow-capped buildings and lampposts. “I came here once when I was at uni, but it wasn’t as nice then. We don’t get as much snow, and snow makes everything pretty.”

“Not as pretty as you,” Jane teased. “Although I am most curious… do you suppose snow could make you even prettier?”

Clara had paused to gaze into a shop window, her back to Jane. “How would it do…” she shrieked as Jane deposited a large amount of snow on the top of her head, scooping up a handful and throwing it back at her. “That’s _cold,_ and it’s all down my neck, you _horrible woman_!”

Jane laughed and danced out of range, skipping off down the street with a somewhat bedraggled and rather bemused Clara in pursuit. At the corner by the cathedral, both women hit a patch of ice, skidding along the street ungracefully and tumbling into a pile of arms and legs beneath a snow-laden tree.

“We really need to stop making a habit of this,” Clara quipped. “Falling over each other.”

Jane stole a quick kiss on the cheek before standing up. “But it is _so_ enjoyable.”

 

~/~/~/~

 

That evening they curled up together in front of the fire, sipping mugs of mulled cider, as Jane read to Clara from what would ultimately become _Pride & Prejudice. _“I could always name you in my dedication,” Jane mused, as Clara stroked circles on the bare skin of Jane’s back, occasionally pressing kisses to her shoulders. “It would make everyone wonder who you were…”

“You can’t, Jane,” Clara said worriedly, cursing her practicality but knowing the Doctor would be angry if she changed things, no matter how small. “I’ve read the book, there is no dedication.”

“Well, how tremendously impudent of me. I guess I’ll have to show my devotion in other ways.” Jane teased, and Clara smiled.

“Such as how?” she asked, and Jane rolled onto her side, running her fingertips along Clara’s hip until her breath hitched and her eyes closed.

“Like this…” Jane murmured, pressing her lips to the hollow of Clara’s throat, feeling her pulse racing under her touch. “I can feel your heart.”

“Of course you can feel it,” Clara stammered. “It’s basically yours now…”

Jane’s fingers stopped abruptly and pulled back, her face poised inches from Clara’s. “What do you mean?”

“I meant… not like… I just… you’re…” Clara cursed herself inwardly. She was never speechless. This wasn’t like her. _Damn you Jane. Damn you and your kisses._

“If you cannot find the words, I know your feelings to be true,” Jane whispered. “For you to be unable to find the words serves as words enough, Miss Oswald.”

Clara blushed mightily then sat up to kiss Jane, surprised when Jane’s teeth bit down on her lower lip and her hands swept lower down Clara’s hips until…  

 _So much for anachronisms_ was her last coherent thought of the night.

 

~/~/~/~

 

“I don’t want you to leave,” Jane confessed, mumbling her words into Clara’s hair mid-week. “I could not bear to be with anyone other than you, and especially not a man, with their rough ways. I want you, forever. A true romance." 

Clara rolled over and wrapped her arms around Jane, kissing her forehead tenderly. “I’ll come back and visit,” she promised. “As much as I can. The Doctor will let me; I can make him. But we’ve got to be careful… you know what people would think of us if they knew. We can’t change time, it would cause… problems, later on.” Her warnings fell of deaf ears.

“Do you swear to return?” Jane asked, her eyes beseeching, and Clara nodded. “Then I swear to be with no man, Clara. It is my choice and my desire to remain yours.”

Clara knew it was fruitless to argue, and so she kissed her gently. “OK,” she said softly. “That sounds like a good deal.”

 

~/~/~/~

 

The last morning was what destroyed Clara. Jane’s tears, her shuddering sobs, her tearful kisses. She had clung to Clara the night before, her arms encircling her waist, whilst Clara wept silent tears, attempting to maintain her brave façade. 

“You’ll keep the vow?” Jane asked one final time, her forehead resting against Clara’s, their eyes downcast with sorrow.

“Of course, Jane. You know I will.” Clara managed, pressing her lips to Jane’s. “Of course I’ll be back, and we can keep pranking each other, and kissing, and it will all be perfect.” _If I tell myself that enough, it has to be true,_ she thought. _But I will come back, at least._

“Hurry _up,_ ” the Doctor complained loudly from the other side of the door. “I’m not a taxi service, Clara.”

Clara sighed, pulling away from Jane sorrowfully. “I’m yours,” she said softly. “Always.”

“Always.” Jane repeated, closing her eyes and turning her head so that Clara would not see her tears fall. When she looked back, the room was empty, and she allowed herself, finally, to fall apart.

 

~/~/~/~

 

“So,” the Doctor said cheerfully, apparently oblivious to Clara’s distress. “We could head over to Thorosia, they have these giant flying horses that you can ride.”

“Doctor.”

“Or we could go Fassilon 5, there’s this infinite waterfall that goes into the sky…”

“ _Doctor,_ ” Clara said more loudly, and he stopped and looked at her with surprise.

“Why’s your face leaking?” he asked her, but it didn’t raise so much as a smile. “Clara?”

“I just need a moment.” She explained, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. The Doctor reached into a pocket and handed her a handkerchief, royal blue and surprisingly clean, which she promptly put to good use.

“You anachronismed, didn’t you?” he asked quietly, and Clara nodded miserably. She was surprised when he put his arms round her, her head resting on his chest, but she welcomed the gesture, leaning against him in silence for a few moments and listening to the double rhythm of his hearts.

“There’s this garden we could go and see,” he said softly, in a placating sort of a way. “The second most beautiful garden in all of time and space. They have roses that sing, and tulips that change colour depending on their mood.”

“That would be nice,” Clara sniffled, about to pull away from him the embrace.

“No, no, no.” he chastised gently. “I’m a hugging person now.”

“No you’re not,” she argued, and he sighed a little.

“I can make an exception where you’re concerned.”

 

~/~/~/~

 

As Clara felt the Quantum Shade enter her chest, she could only think of one regret. One promise she would be unable to keep.

 _Jane,_ she thought to herself, as the pain began to rip through her and a scream twisted its way from her throat. _I can feel my heart, Jane. It’s so fast and so loud and it's yours._


End file.
